List the people you admire and look to for advice…
(Daily prompt)
At the moment, I have two answers to the question of who I admire and ask for advice.
The first group is made up of people I genuinely admire—those whose entire lifestyle, or at least a certain aspect of their personality, fascinates and inspires me. These are the people I would be curious to hear from on almost any topic. And unless they said something completely wild or impractical, I would probably try to follow their advice too.
They’re not celebrities or famous figures—although I’m sure I could find a few among them as well. But since getting direct advice from them is unlikely, I keep them in the “inspiration” category. The people I mean are closer than that—those who, in some way, seem to understand life a bit better, who have figured something out, and who handle at least the areas that matter to me more successfully.
That said, they usually don’t belong to my immediate inner circle. Or at least not closely enough for me to run to them with every small crisis.
(Although, from time to time… I do try.)
Then there’s the second group—the people I actually ask for advice in practice.
Following the logic of Eva Pompourous, I try to choose them based on whether they have proven experience, knowledge, or success in the specific area I’m asking about. For example, I try not to ask my most financially struggling acquaintance how to make more money, or someone in a failing relationship for relationship advice.
Of course, I’m human. Sometimes the boundaries blur.
But one thing I’ve noticed: the more people I ask, the more uncertain I become—which is not exactly helpful.
Because, if I’m honest, most of the time I’m not really looking for advice. I’m looking for confirmation of something I’ve already decided, somewhere deep down.
And if people don’t give me that, they don’t help—they just destabilize the plan.
Then I go to twenty-five more people, hoping someone will finally agree with me. And in the end, no matter what I decide, there will be fifteen people who would have done it differently—and who will either openly or silently think, “I told you so,” if things go wrong.
So honestly—don’t ask me for advice about asking for advice.
The more interesting question this raises for me is:
why do I have two separate answers in the first place?
Why aren’t the people who truly inspire me part of my inner circle?
Have I even given that a real chance?
Or is there something deeper—some quiet sense that I don’t belong in their world?
That they are somehow “above” me, and I should stay where I am?
I think it is something I need to change.
To consciously surround myself with what genuinely feels right—not what others once planted in me as “good enough.”
To learn to recognize the difference.
And to start moving in the right direction.
Because maybe then, I won’t need so much advice in the first place.
And then there’s the elephant in the room.
If I believe—why don’t I rely on God?
I do. Fully.
Just not always in the way people imagine.
There’s a story that captures this perfectly:
A man is trapped on his rooftop during a flood.
The water is rising, and he starts praying:
“God, please save me.”
Soon, a man in a rowboat comes by and shouts:
“Jump in! I can save you!”
But the man replies:
“No, thank you. I’m praying to God. He will save me.”
So the boat leaves.
As the water rises higher, a motorboat arrives:
“Get in! We’ll take you to safety!”
Again, he refuses:
“No thanks. I have faith. God will save me.”
So the motorboat leaves too.
Finally, a helicopter appears overhead.
The pilot lowers a rope:
“Grab on! We’ll pull you up!”
But the man refuses once more:
“No. God will save me.”
The helicopter flies away.
Eventually, the water rises above the roof, and the man drowns.
When he reaches heaven, he asks:
“I had faith in you. Why didn’t you save me?”
And God replies:
“I sent you a rowboat, a motorboat, and a helicopter… what more did you expect?”
You can pray. You can ask the question.
But you also have to be able to hear the answer.
That’s the real task.
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